Today in Hillwood
by arrancar125
Summary: A series of one-shots about the everyday comings and goings between Arnold and Helga


**I DO NOT OWN HEY ARNOLD. CRAIG BARTLETT AND NICKELODEON AND PARAMOUNT OWN THIS WORK.**

 **The Sweater**

She stood in front of her mirror, holding up every dress she owned against her frame. This one was too short, that one too black, this one too sparkling, all of them, not quite right. Then she switched to tops and jeans, but everything looked either too casual or trying too hard. Honestly, she'd be better off just mailing it to him.

Helga didn't know why she was torturing herself. At best she would go over to the boarding house, hand him the sweater, and run like hell. She knew she was never going to tell him how she felt. She never was going to get any further with Arnold than just being his friend.

"Agh! Why is this so hard?!" the blonde teen cried out in agony, falling backwards on her bed.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door, and the soft voice of her sister piping through, "Is everything alright in there?"

 _Oh great_ Helga rolled her eyes. Now Olga would intervene and make matters worse. Last thing Helga needed was Olga's preachy, motherly advice, on something she could never understand.

In her best sing-songy voice, Helga replied, "Yes, everything's fine. Thank you."

"Okay. Just let me know if you need anything. I'll be downstairs in the kitchen."

Helga waited for Olga's steps to dissipate before she breathed a sigh of relief. She didn't hate living with her sister. Olga was at least loving and concerned, something she never had growing up. However, at the first sign of distress, Olga pounced. And while it was nice that she cared, sometimes it was a bit much. Still, it was nice.

Now, what to do about Arnold's sweater.

Really, did she have to make things so complicated? Arnold was just a boy, and it was just a sweater. She should just suck it up, and go over there. Thus, she put on a pair of dark jeans, a purple sweatshirt and some moccasins. She was Helga G. Pataki for heaven's sake and no one, not even Arnold, was going to get the better of her.

Upon descending the stairs, she heard "Let It Go" in the background. Ally, Olga's four-year-daughter and Helga's niece, was watching Frozen for the hundredth time. It was a cute movie, but not that cute.

"Hi Allison," the blonde teenager snuck up on the four-year-old.

"Auntie Helga!" Ally squealed, reaching her arms up in the air for her to be picked up. Helga raised her high and swung her round and around.

"Alright you two. Settle down." Olga came into the living room. "Before her breakfast comes back up. And where are you headed off to?" the older sister indicated to Helga's purse.

"Oh . . . I . . . uh . . . have a few errands to run," Helga lied.

"How long will you be running errands?"

"Not too long."

May I ask where you'll be?"

"Around . . ."

"Helga," Olga said firmly.

"Uh oh," Ally chimed in as Helga set her back down.

"Allison, would you go to your room please?"

"But I haven't finished Frozen," her daughter whined.

"Allison, you've watched enough Frozen for today and I need to talk to your aunt. Upstairs please," Olga used her motherly tone that meant don't-try-me.

"Fine." The toddler stomped up the stairs.

Once Olga was certain Ally was in her room, she turned to Helga and asked, "Do these errands have anything to do with that sweater you're holding and that little freak out you had earlier?"

"Olga do we have to—"

"Does this have anything to do with Arnold?"

Helga was silent. Damn Olga knew how to hit the nail on the head.

"Fine. If you must know. Arnold let me borrow his sweater and when I was going to return it, I don't know . . . maybe I'd . . ."

"You'd just spill your guts to him and then what?"

"I don't know. I haven't thought it all the way through, okay!"

"Helga, speaking as someone who has been in love on more than one occasion, you shouldn't be chasing a boy down. You can't convince someone to love you. Either they do or they don't."

"I'm not trying to convince him . . ."

"Then what are you trying to do?"

"I just . . ." but then Helga did think about it. What was she trying to do? What did she hope to achieve?

Helga had been down this road before, nine and scheming for Arnold to notice her. Scheme after scheme blowing up in her face and Arnold just shrugging, saying, "Whatever you say Helga." And now sixteen, and she and Arnold spending a lot of time together, but there was always some girl he had his arm around or some girl he wanted Helga's opinion on. While things had progressed between them, there was nothing remotely close to a relationship. Olga was right, Helga should just stop chasing him.

And just as Helga was about to tell Olga her epiphany, her sister responded:

"Listen Helga, a word of advice," Olga began. "Just act like you don't care. Trust me, nothing makes a guy more into you than when he thinks you're not interested."

"And how long do I have to pretend to be disinterested?" Helga asked without a second thought. So much for the epiphany.

"Until you're married," Olga smiled, patting her younger sister on the shoulder before returning to the kitchen.

On her walk over to the boarding house, Helga contemplated Olga's words. Deep down, Olga's advice was sound. On the one hand, she could just give up; then on the other, she could just ignore him. Either way, from this day forward, Arnold was no longer going to be the center of her universe. Helga would focus on other things and if things happened, they happened. And if they didn't, oh well, that was fine too.

She reached the boarding house and knocked on the door. She moved aside, remembering the hoard of animals that would run out. But instead of a stampede of fur hurtling towards her, there stood a shirtless football headed god staring at back at her.

Holy mother of god. Why was he answering the door shirtless? Why did he have to look so good? Oh how she wanted to lick his chest. _Wait, what?_

 _Okay Helga, get it together. It's just Arnold . . . Shirtless . . . And gorgeous . . ._

"Oh hey Helga. What's up?" He interrupted her thoughts, rubbing his eyes lazily.

 _Was he asleep? He sleeps shirtless. If only he'd sleep with m—whoa there Helga. Focus. Just give him back the sweater._

She took a deep breath and smiled. "Hey." _Ack. That sounded too dreamy. Just run, run away now._

"So . . ."

"Oh! I just wanted to return your sweater." She extended his garment to him.

"I forgot I loaned that to you. I mean, I have like several that match that one," he chuckled to himself.

"Right, right." Helga nodded, feeling stupid. But she tried to keep her face blank, her posture nonchalant, her voice aloof. "So I guess you don't want it back?"

"Nah. You keep it."

"Thanks." She shrugged and began walking away. _Smooth Helga, real smooth._

"Was that it?" He stopped her dead in her tracks.

"Yep. That's it."

"You sure?" he stepped down the stoop, closing the gap between them until they were inches apart.

Gulp

"You know, I should be—"

"Do you wanna come take a nap with me?" he whispered huskily.

All Helga could do was nod.

"Helga?"

"Yes?"

"Helga." She finally heard him, breaking her out of her daydream.

"Huh?"

"I said, you mind waiting for me to put on a shirt and then we can go hang out?"

"Sur—actually, you can just wear this." She handed him the sweater.

"Thanks." He pulled the wool garment over his head. "Ready to go."

And with that, Helga was off to spend the day with Arnold. Sure, she shouldn't be chasing a boy down, but Olga said nothing about walking beside him.

* * *

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